Lost to Madness

Chapter 8:

Well here we are at the end of another LOOONG story that just wasn't gonna end. Every time I start one of these I swear I'll never do another multi chapter. I have a vampire western movie script to write and a novel to work on and I cannot let go of these guys! What is the DEAL? (Looks up at pic of boys Gaelic gifted me with that was hand signed before her eyes. That face, those eyes...Oh yeah... now I remember...)

Anywho...

To those of you who foolishly climbed aboard this circus train with me, and I cannot name you all because I would surely leave someone important out, the ride was made joyous by your presence, whether I saw you in person or not, (waves at lurkers) and your kind words, when you chose to bestow them on me were valued beyond gold. I'm sure I missed replying to too many of you and for that I'm truly sorry. You allow me to vent my frustration, indulge in the actions of a crazed and depraved mind and thank me for doing it. It's definitely you I should be thanking for tolerating stuff that in the real world has people asking me if I ever really killed anyone. (Seriously, isn't that like asking someone if they're a virgin ...well, maybe not exactly, but you get the drift.)

Everyone grab your umbrellas, it's going to rain....

(Does blood stain umbrella fabric? Must do more research, although God knows, my website history is so bizarre anyway...)

A few of this week's searches: Burning house images, lock picking tools, ignition temp of a burning match, chronic appendicitis, pirate flags, California desert, crows, stitches in skin, eyelashes, threaded suture needles, man using bullwhip, sexy men (always a fave), desolate highways, pints of blood in a human body, man tied between two trees - hanging by wrists - hanging by arms - being whipped, etc., nail sizes for nail guns, Mr. Zing and Tuffy...(don't ask...)

Okay...Gaelic encourages me to have them go at it like animals and I cannot find it in my heart to deny her any request...so what it will undoubtedly lack in quality will hopefully be made up by satisfactory violence.

This is the last chapter of this tour de farce. (Yes, I spelled it that way on purpose.) Eaglegirl6 (Kelly) ta for your patience in waiting so long for your requested ending. I hope it meets with your expectations or at least comes close to a few of them.

For me, this is a long chapter and Gaelic has pronounced it suitable for public consumption although I know she was just being kind.

AN2: Standard statement regarding not wasting your time pointing out the myriad of blatant plot holes, I'm well aware of their glaring existence but you were warned ahead of time so enter at yuour own risk.

Mike entered the bar room in time to hear the faint growl in the distance become a roar. Too loud and too fast to react. He moved on instinct, throwing himself backwards as the front wall of the bar exploded inward; a ton and a half of blue truck slamming into the building and sailing toward the bar where the two brothers stood.

Sam felt Dean shove him to the side as wood, glass, and metal burst into the room with a cacophony of noise and a bizarre feel of slow motion, the blue truck slewing sideways as it barreled through the bar, smashing into the heavy oak counter and crushing it against the back wall with a scream of raped wood, torn piping and smashed glassware.

Beer sprayed from the half dozen burst taps and water geysered from the pipes in the wall by the corner of the bar, neon signs and overhanging lamps exploding like rainbow fireworks in the sudden deluge.

The truck came to a ticking halt, nose-deep in the side wall, driver's door hanging open, windshield shattered, steam from the engine adding to the din as glass and wood continued to fall around it.

The overhead lights flickered off and on in an irregular pattern, glaring one moment, half-lit gloom the next.

Dean shook his head, struggling to pull himself out from under a table that had ricocheted their way when the truck hit it as they jumped to safety.

"Sam...?" He murmured trying to see in the wavering light. Sam lay near him, arm outstretched, head turned away. "Oh, God..." He shoved debris off of himself and dragged his battered body to Sam, turning him gently.

Sam groaned, to Dean's great relief, eyes fluttering. "You okay there, Sam?" he said loudly, trying to be heard over the sound of exploding lights and spraying water.

Blood running into Dean's eye from a cut on his forehead was washed away as water from the broken pipes soaked his hair and clothes.

"Yeah," Sam finally grunted, getting his breath back. "You?"

Dean nodded, reaching out to wipe the watery blood that had dripped on Sam. "No worse than I was before," he grunted.

"What the hell happened?" Sam asked as he slowly sat up. He grimaced, a hand going to the bandage on his side. A quick glance at his hand when the light flashed again told him the wetness wasn't just the water rapidly soaking him. He turned slightly to hide the bloody bandage from Dean, pulling his now sodden shirt over the wound. "Where's Mike?"

Dean shook his head. "I dunno."

Between the two of them they managed to struggle to their feet. Dean took an unsteady step to the side, trying to see Mike in the darkness. "Mike?" He gripped the back of a chair to keep himself upright. "Mike! You okay?" He wiped water from his face in irritation as he tried to spot Mike in the wavering light.

Sam stared at the vehicle resting in the middle of the bar, feeling his hackles rise. "Oh, shit," he said in a low voice, moving away from Dean. He stumbled over a piece of wood as he went toward the truck, catching himself on the dented fender.

Dean spied a hand under an overturned barstool and he kicked and shoved his way to where Mike lay, swearing. "Sam, I found him!"

He hastily felt for Mike's pulse, closing his eyes when he found it, fast, but steady.

"Dean," Sam spoke his name in a soft tone that sent a ripple of warning across Dean's aching skin.

"Sam?" he replied, turning slowly as he got back to his feet, the muscles in his legs protesting, his hand reaching out to grip a chair for support.

He froze in place, staring at the tableau before him.

"Hey, boy," Rex said with a bloody gap-toothed smile. His clothes were filthy and torn, stained with blood here and there, the falling water leaving muddy trails down his face. The hand he had crooked around Sam's throat visibly tightened, causing Sam to choke, the muzzle of a .45 pressed tight against Sam's temple.

"I must be losing my touch," Rex commented, spitting bloody saliva to the side without moving his eyes from Dean's face. He pushed Sam forward slightly, shoving the muzzle of his gun harder into the side of Sam's head. Sam's face twisted in pain as the fingers Rex had across his throat tightened again. "Usually when I shoot someone they stay dead."

Rex's movement tugged at Sam's shirt and Dean's eyes dropped to the water and blood soaked bandage on Sam's side. Moving closer without thinking, face like stone, Dean's hands curled into impotent fists, adrenaline and rage making him shake.

"Let him go," he said flatly, no room for negotiation.

Rex laughed, cutting Dean off and smacked Sam's skull with the butt of his gun.

Dean moved forward again as Sam grunted with pain. Rex instantly shifted the muzzle under Sam's jaw. He dug in, forcing Sam's head sideways, stopping Dean in his tracks.

"Or what?" Rex sneered. "I'll shoot him right now; you can do whatever the hell you want. Either way," Rex laughed again, "he'll still be dead." Rex's face lost its jocular expression. "Just like Gus and Davy."

Dean closed his eyes briefly, the flickering lights making him dizzy. "Whadda you want?" he spat. "Do you even know what you want? Some frigging key? To what? The padded cell you escaped from? Do you torture people to get your rocks off or are you and your freak-show buddies just plain bat-fuck crazy? Trust me; if those two are dead the world's a better place."

Dean fought to control the growing fury that made his voice tremble. Cold fingers trailed over his skin...burning him...beating him...whipping him like an animal...

Seeing this bastard's filthy hands, stained by his blood and the blood of God knew how many others, wrapped around Sam's throat...threatening Sam...

Shooting Sam.

He had the strange sensation of stepping outside of himself, leaving his battered body behind.

Kicking the chair in front of him away, Dean snarled, "Get the fuck away from my brother!" With every flicker of the lights Dean seemed to move closer without taking a step. "You're a real bad ass when you got someone hanging from a rope, arncha?"

Dean wiped the back of his hand across his eyes to clear the blood again, swathes of red momentarily staining his cheeks like war paint before the water washed it away. "Especially when you got your sidekicks to run interference. Well, they're dead now." Dean's voice fell to a low growl. "Just like you're gonna be."

"Dean," Sam croaked. "Don't..." He gagged as Rex squeezed his windpipe again.

"Shut up, Sammy," Dean ordered harshly, "This is between him and me. Look at me, you motherfucker," he challenged, cocking his head, watching as the gun under Sam's chin slowly lowered itself, the madness burning just as brightly in Rex's eyes as the hellfire burning in Dean's. "Whadaya say? You got the balls to finish this without someone holding your hand? Cheering you on while you shoot fish in a barrel?"

Another light exploded in a shower of blue sparks as Rex shoved Sam away from him, sending him stumbling into the wreckage of bar stools, pointing his gun, instead, at Dean.

Dean sensed Sam coming back and pointed at him without looking. "Stay out of this!"

Sam clutched his wounded side. "No, Dean! I can't let--"

"I mean it, Sam! I'll take you down myself. Me and this sack of shit have a score to settle!"

Even in the half light Sam could see the look on Dean's face. This was more than a need for revenge. Dean needed this closure, for his own sake as well as his stupid sense of duty toward Sam.

Reluctantly, and certain he was insane for doing it, Sam fell back a step.

Rex smiled again, surveying Dean's bruised body. "Do you really want to do this, boy?"

Dean's mouth quirked at the corner and he moved into a fighting stance.

Rex snorted, shaking his head. He dropped the .45 on the floor and moved slightly away from the truck.

A board, slipping loose from its moorings in the ceiling, landed with a bang on the top of the bubbling jukebox, drawing everyone's surprised attention as Lynyrd Skynyrd began to blast from the speakers.

Dean actually laughed. "Just what we needed," he growled, "Background music." Extending one hand toward Rex, he crooked his fingers. "Bring it on, you pathetic bastard..."

Sam stood by helplessly. He didn't want this to happen, but he couldn't stop it. The lights had ceased flickering for the most part, leaving the room in a sparkling blue haze as the water still spraying non-stop from the broken pipes in the wall. His hair and clothes were plastered to his body and water was an inch deep on the floor. The din of the jukebox added an extra layer of unreality to the scene.

Dean and Rex stared at each other for a heartbeat. There was no circling, no gauging each other's weaknesses; with a sudden roar they charged toward each other like attacking animals and engaged in battle.

The force of Dean's attack knocked them both back into the truck despite Rex's greater weight.

Dean landed a series of punches to Rex's face and upper body, almost too fast for him to react to, but he managed to shove Dean back sufficiently get distance for strikes of his own, sending Dean tumbling to the floor.

Dean scrambled to his feet, water flying, meeting Rex halfway in a sloppy tackle that slammed them back against the truck.

Fists pummeled in any available space, fingers clawing for eyes, knees searching for weak areas to bury themselves in. Cursing and shouting, both men struggled to gain space to maneuver, sliding sideways down the wet side of the truck to hit the layer of water covering the floor with a shallow splash.

Every muscle and joint in Dean's body screamed in outrage, but he ignored the pain, insane with the need to remove this scum from the face of the earth.

He managed to get his hands wrapped around Rex's thick throat and was doing his damndest to crush Rex's windpipe, ignoring the blows Rex was slamming against his body, trying to shove a knee between them to break Dean's hold.

Suddenly, Rex's hands clawed across Dean's torn back, fingers digging into the ragged wounds the flogging had left him with, tearing away the sodden bandages.

It was too much and Dean reared back with a hoarse yell, giving Rex a chance to topple him over.

Rex rolled to his knees and then to his feet, kicking out at Dean as he tried to get up, one booted foot connecting with Dean's ribs, knocking Dean into a table.

"That all you got?" Rex yelled over the fall of water and the noise from the jukebox, Hells Bells now blasting from the speakers. "I shoulda taken out your pansy ass when I had the chance! Used my belt to peel the skin off your bones then pissed on what was left!" He punctuated his words with kicks that rolled Dean across the floor.

"Dean!" Sam grabbed Dean to stop his forward momentum. Dean arched against him, crying out, as Sam's fingers came in contact with the open wounds on his back. "Please! Stop this!"

"Get back!" Dean gasped, shoving Sam away. "Stay out of this!"

Rex had come closer, sneering as Sam fussed over Dean. "Don't worry, kid," he laughed, wiping blood from the corner of his mouth. "Soon's I'm done with your pussy brother, I'll take care of you."

Dean took advantage of the slight distraction and twisted his body, swinging his foot out to knock Rex's legs out from under him and bringing the older man back to the floor with a crash.

Weighted down by his soaked jeans, Dean struggled to his feet. Blood running down his body from the slashes across his skin washed away almost immediately by the water that continued to spray from the torn pipes. He staggered sideways as he got to his feet, trying to mop water from his eyes.

Strong hands grasped him again. "Dean, for God's sake--" Sam's pleading voice was almost drowned out by the music. "This is crazy!"

Dean shook him off, swearing in a hoarse snarl. He shook his head, trying to clear the ringing in his ears. The room swam dizzily and he knew Sam was right but he was too far gone to give a damn.

Rex had clambered back to his feet, shaking his head, moving slower. The smirk on his face was gone, replaced by a look of crazed anger that Dean suspected was mirrored in his own eyes.

"Not so easy when they can fight back is it?" Dean coughed out, holding a hand to his bruised ribs.

Rex screamed a wordless noise of fury and launched himself at Dean. They hit the ground rolling, tables and chairs scattering as they fell into the furniture that was shoved into a pile by the truck.

The lights flickered uncertainly once more. Darkness one second, dim light the next. In the short space of darkness Dean and Rex had fought their way toward the bar.

Sam bit his lip, watching in horror as one punch from Dean sent Rex sliding across the wet floor, directly toward the shotgun that had been knocked from the bar with the impact of the truck. Dean stumbled forward and went to his hands and knees.

Rex spotted the gun, just out of reach, lunging toward the weapon before Sam could move.

A heavily booted foot came out of the darkness and kicked the gun away from Rex's grasp toward Sam.

Mike followed the gun out of the shadows and skirted the bar/arena to stand next to Sam. He grabbed the gun off the floor and leveled it at Rex, but Sam snatched it away.

"No! Not yet..."

With an outraged, "What are you doing? Are you insane?" Mike gestured at the battling men.

"Yes," Sam whispered.

Mike glared at Sam and then glared at the jukebox, going over to kick it away from the wall and jerk out the plug, cutting off Judas Priest's Touch of Evil in mid chorus, the only remaining sounds the buzz of the lights and the gasps and grunts of the two men writhing on the ground tangled around each other like anacondas. Rex was desperately trying to get his hands around Dean's throat while Dean kept him back with one knee against Rex's chest, the pressure shoving him slowly backwards on his shoulders.

Dean's strength was waning and he knew it, his body shaking with effort, the pain from his shoulders almost blinding as was he was pushed closer to the brass foot rail of the bar. Rex was using his weight and Dean's drawn up leg to literally crush the air out of Dean.

Dean felt his focus narrow to include only him, Rex and the need to suck air into his constricted lungs.

With a sudden sizzling pop the lights went out, leaving the bar in darkness.

"Shit!" Rang out from the darkness

Dimly, Dean heard tables and chairs being knocked over but he couldn't identify the speaker. In the darkness Rex's body became a boulder crushing him into the floor, the older man's face close enough now Dean could smell his fetid breath as he laughed in Dean's face.

"This is even better than stripping the skin off you... crush you like the cockroach you are..."

Dean's left hand was pressed tightly against the scruff of Rex's face trying futilely to push bigger man's head away.

"Get some fucking light in here!!!" Sam's voice bellowed.

Dean's right hand scrabbled across the floor searching for something to strike with, twisting his head to try and see in the blackness.

A faint pink glow a short distance away caught his eye.

What the fuck?

He was starting to black out and reached for the object without thought, fingers encountering cold plastic from which dangled a long ragged bit of metal.

Recognition ignited Dean's brain. The fingers of his left hand convulsed on what he recognized as an ear and he gripped tight, using his right hand to jab forward, feeling it strike something soft and sink in.

"Here's your fucking KEY!" Dean spat, using all his remaining strength to ram the object home.

Whatever body part Dean hit, Rex screamed and jerked back, falling away, gagging. Dean groaned as he pulled himself out from under Rex's twitching body, his arms trembling as dragged his legs free, making an abortive attempt to get to his knees.

"Dean!" Sam's voice again, to Dean's left.

It was cave dark and Dean couldn't see a damn thing. He heard furniture being shoved as he staggered drunkenly to his feet, moving toward Sam's voice.

"Sam..." He couldn't have been more than twenty feet away but to Dean it may as well have been a mile.

A light swept the bar as Mike appeared with a flashlight.

"Here...I'm here..." Sam met him part way, arms reaching out as Dean stumbled into them, his knees buckling. Sam let him take them both to the floor as Dean collapsed against him. Sam dropped the shotgun to the floor beside them and wrapped his arms around Deans' shaking body, his cheek pressed against Dean's hair.

"I got you..." Sam murmured, closing his eyes, unable to stop himself from rocking, as Dean breathed raggedly into Sam's chest, one hand gripping Sam's soggy shirt. "I got you, you stupid fuck...I got you..."

Mike crouched down next to them and put a hand on Sam's shoulder. "Holy Christ...is he dead?" he asked pointing his flash where Rex lay.

An inhuman scream was his answer as Rex suddenly reared up, face a mask of pouring blood even the falling water couldn't wash away. The old key to the front door lock of Mike's bar that Dean had grabbed in desperation and used as a weapon was rammed into Rex's right eye socket, the pink glowing heart bobbing at the end like a macabre piece of jewelry.

Mike yelled, falling back in horror, his flashlight still trained on Rex as he lurched toward them, his .45 gripped tightly in both hands.

Echoing Mike's yell, Sam and Dean both reached for the dropped shotgun lying next to them and swung it up, Sam holding the grip in one hand, Dean the barrel, their fingers curling over the duel triggers and pulling back simultaneously, discharging both barrels of the weapon with a booming roar.

Rex took the hit point blank, his own gun flying up to discharge into the ceiling as he fell back, hitting the floor and sliding several feet in the water before lying still.

The shotgun hit the floor and Dean slumped limply back into Sam's embrace.

"Now he's dead..."

Dawn was painting the sky orange as Sam stacked a final chair on the pile and moved back to the Impala, waiting while Mike carried out the last case of bottles out of the bar.

Everything they could reasonably salvage was piled a safe distance from the old building. The front wall was totally caved in and the sign for Mike's Bar hung from one support, swinging gently in the breeze. The structure hadn't been that much to begin with but now it was a total wreck. Like the crumbling town, it had outlived its purpose.

Sam dropped into a crouch by the open back door of the Impala and touched Dean's leg. "How you doin'?" he asked softly.

Dean sat slumped sideways against the rear seat, eyes half closed, a blanket draped around his shoulders, his hands twisted into the fabric. Thick new bandages covered his shoulders and now his hands where the knuckles had been split in the fight. Even in the dim light Sam could see how pale Dean was, his face bruised and cut, one eye black and swollen half shut.

"Never better," Dean wheezed, then coughed, grimacing as the movement jostled his ribs.

Without thought, Sam reached up and rested the back of his hand against Dean's face.

"You feel kinda warm," Sam commented, withdrawing his hand before Dean could flinch away.

Dean shrugged, "Doesn't matter."

He was half-conscious from all the pain killers Sam had forced into him, his body a weight he was just too tired to try and hold up anymore and right now, it really didn't matter. He let his head fall against the seat.

They both looked up as Mike walked over and shrugged. "I guess that's it," he said, spreading his hands.

Sam stood up, wincing slightly at the pull on his wounded side. "I'm sorry about all this..." he began, feeling very guilty and very grateful.

Mike shook his head and glanced back at the bar. "Shit happens," he replied succinctly. "I was thinking about leaving anyway. Guess the decision was made for me. I still don't understand what the hell this was all about, but at least I got to be one of the good guys." He paused, frowning. "I was one of the good guys, right?"

Sam laughed and nodded. "Yeah, definitely." He held out his hand, "Dean wouldn't—hell we wouldn't be alive if it wasn't for you."

Mike grinned and shook his head, taking Sam's handing and pumping it warmly. "I'm never gonna see you again, right? 'Cause, I can't afford to do this twice."

"I think I can guarantee it," Sam replied.

Mike gestured at Dean. "He gonna be okay?"

"He's right here," Dean growled, lifting his head slightly. "And, yeah... he'll be fine."

Mike and Sam both snorted.

"Let's do this," Mike said, turning back to the bar. Sam grabbed the two cans of kerosene and followed Mike back into the bar.

It didn't take long to douse the interior and its remaining occupant.

A few minutes later, leaning against the Impala, they watched as flames licked their way through the windows and roof. Even Dean managed to rouse himself enough to watch.

"You'll take care of the church?" Sam asked, just to be sure.

Mike nodded. "Shouldn't take long. Maybe arson is addictive." Eyeing his business as it burned to the ground he laughed suddenly.

"What?" Sam questioned.

"It just hit me. It's a good thing I'm burning it down cause I sure as hell don't want to have to get the key back to lock the front door."

End notes: Commits ritual suicide. (Anyway I will as soon as I post this. I understand if no one ever speaks to me again. Well...I'll be dead, so not speaking to me again sort of goes hand in hand with that...)